


Three Doorsteps

by Daphne_Fredriksen



Series: Vicbourne Christmas Stories [4]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Inspired by A Christmas Carol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daphne_Fredriksen/pseuds/Daphne_Fredriksen
Summary: A short Dickensian tale.  Merry Christmas to us all!
Relationships: William Lamb 2nd Viscount Melbourne/Victoria of the United Kingdom (1819-1901)
Series: Vicbourne Christmas Stories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803724
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	Three Doorsteps

A tall man in a blue velvet frockcoat walked out of a shop and into the dark streets of London. He stepped carefully, as the fog was oppressive and the cobblestones were slick with foul moisture.

This was not an area of town he cared to spend much time in. The Madeira from Messrs. Mullforth & Grogbin was superior to any other, but lord, the denizens of this quarter – ragamuffins, tosspots, and pickpockets! He should have sent Baines. But, inexplicably, he’d rather felt the need for a walk.

He’d noticed a little cart ahead of him which looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place. It stopped every so often as the riders stepped out to place something at doors, knock, and drive away.

The cart stopped again; it put him in mind of a cart he’d seen on the grounds of Buckingham Palace. A blonde woman stepped out with a heavy bundle, and a short, veiled woman carried a basket. They knocked and left, and he hadn’t the chance to follow, for in a moment a stout, coarse-skinned woman came out on the doorstep.

“Eh, wot’s this?” She looked at the man. “Did you leave these ‘ere fings?”

“ _I_? Heavens no!”

“Well then, ‘oo did?”

“I don’t know,” he said – a bit brusquely, as he hastily pushed on. It was not his business to chatter with drudges and dogsbodies. He did hope, however, she’d make wise use of the charity bestowed.

The cart trundled on. The day - which was dark enough, due to the smoky chimneys in the town - was now going to evening. The first lamplighters were doing their rounds. The man pulled his scarf tighter, and came closer to the cart.

The same two women stepped out, and the man now saw the driver – a young, dark-haired man. Something in the veiled woman’s movements reminded him of a lady who was dear to him, a fact that discomfited him.

They left the same sort of articles at a skinny, ramshackle house, and as the blond woman went back to the cart, she turned her head so he could see her face. The man gasped. Perhaps the twilight played tricks, but the woman was the very image of Skerrett, the Queen’s servant.

Though he had seen her, he was quite sure she’d not seen him. But before he could get close to the cart again, the door to the crooked little house opened up.

As before, a woman opened it and showed the same bewilderment toward the items. Again, being asked if he’d left them, the man demurred. But the woman was thin and weakly, and she struggled with the bundles. Touched by her predicament, the man came forward to lift the heavy package. He entered the hovel, rather bashfully, and placed it on a table near the fire (for there was no proper kitchen). Puzzled, she asked him to open it – and there was a fine, fat turkey!

“O, who could have! O, God bless ‘em!” She hid her face in her hands, weeping for joy. “A fine feast we’ll have...” she said when she recovered, “and the carcass will fetch good broth!” She sat it up to admire it. “Harry, Billy, _won’t_ this be a fine feast?!”

“O, it will, Mother. The best ever!” said two little voices from behind him, and the man turned to view the speakers.

He was moved by the sight. In a corner were two fine boys – or they would have been fine boys, had they been in good health. But, though ravaged by want (and no doubt by the ignorance of their case by any doctor), the two spoke sweetly, and their eyes glowed with gratitude. One of the boys looked up at him with a winning smile.

“Well!” he said, “I wish you all a Happy Christmas.” He stepped out quickly. His eyes swam, for the boy with the smile reminded him of his own dear son, dead for many years now. If his Augustus had been sickly like this, and not been able to be cared for...!

The cart had stopped at yet another house a bit further on and started again, and he hurried after it. For a third time, the door opened. There stood before him an old man, weak and bent, but whose eyes became large and brilliant at the happy sight. The man hurried to the doorstep and offered to bring the articles in.

“Thank ‘ee,” said the oldster. “ ‘Tis a ‘elp!” The old man spotted a warm shawl in the basket and tried to put it on. The man in the blue frockcoat helped him, arranging it around his withered shoulders.

“There you are - warmer, I hope! I don’t much like being cold myself.”

The old man smiled graciously.

The other shuddered slightly, remembering his thoughts from earlier this evening. So, these were the ragamuffins and ne’er-do-wells of which the government - his government at times - had spoken of so warningly! He shuddered again, thinking of his own high place in society, and how little he knew of _this part_ of society now standing before him...

The gaffer sat down, and said, “I ‘ope these is new an’ better times, now we’ve got a queen. Wot a glorious name she has – Wictoria!”

“Yes, it’s a lovely name,” the man agreed, smothering a smile at how her name sounded in the dialect of lower-class Londoners.

“A new age. O, these men – Melbourne, Peel, even Wellington – they was fine for their times, but times do change! Not for me, o’ course – I’m a-goin’ soon – but for the young ‘uns. I ‘ope they gets a time o’ mercy, an’ a chance o’ life!”

“Indeed, every person needs a chance to have a go at it.” He thought a moment. “Sometimes a second...” he said, more to himself than to anyone. For he realized that with the Queen’s accession, he himself had gotten another chance - one he didn’t intend to waste.

He headed to the door. “Well, I bid you a good day!”

“Aye... and a Happy Christmas, sir!”

“Yes, and also to you.” The man nodded his head and left.

The thought remained with him. A time for mercy. A time for new chances.

He looked ahead and saw that the cart had stopped again. This time he caught up to it, and as he approached, he heard the women talking.

“Are we going to the Poulterer’s, Ma’am?”

A clear sweet voice spoke firmly. “Yes, to pick up several birds. I can’t bear that even in a workhouse they should be without a proper Christmas dinner.”

The man came up and cleared his throat. “In that case, Ma’am, allow me to be of assistance.” He looked appraisingly at the cart. “The cart will carry the poultry, efficiently no doubt, but if we are to deliver the birds, then perhaps another pair of hands to unload will be helpful.”

She lifted her veil and her blue eyes sparkled with joy. “I am most grateful for your help.”

“Then I am happy, Ma’am.”

As they drove to the Poulterer’s, he asked if the feast had already been paid for.

“Not yet. Skerrett will advise them to send the bill to the Palace.”

“If you will permit me, Your Majesty, I’d rather that the bill be sent to Brocket Hall instead.”

“Why, whatever for? I like to do good, and I can afford it.”

“No doubt you can!” He waggled his eyebrows humorously at her and she laughed. “Nevertheless, I insist.”

“Well, in that case... but I thought you were not fond of charity, Lord M. You have said that the lower orders must work harder to fend for themselves.”

His face darkened. “I have said a good many things in my life that I now regret. My judgments have perhaps been hasty.” He turned up the corner of his mouth, lightening the mood. “Perhaps we could consider that some ‘back payments are included in it.’ “ *

She slid her arm in his, and the smile she gave him filled his heart with warmth and light.

They got to the shop in short order, then, soon enough, to the workhouse itself. The cooks and helpers were astonished at the great gift! As for the benefactors, _they_ were astonished that what was for them so easy and light an act could bring such comfort and joy to their fellow-man.

The ride back to the Palace was quiet. No one spoke much; the snow started, muffling the clop of the horses’ hooves.

Skerrett sat on the seat next to Brodie; Lord M. and Victoria sat in the back. Lord M. wrapped a thick tartan blanket warmly around them.

Tired, the Queen leaned back. Unobtrusively, Lord M. put his arm about her, and she leaned into him.

“Are you cold, Your Majesty?”

“Not really. My nose is a bit chilled, but my heart is warm inside.”

“Indeed, and so is mine. God bless you, Ma’am.”

“God bless _you_ , Lord M.” She startled him with a peck on the lips. “ ‘God bless us, every one!’ ” *

**Author's Note:**

> * This story is set while Victoria is “a new queen” so I’m imagining this takes place in 1837 - ’38 at the latest. “A Christmas Carol” did not come out until 1843, so Lord M. & Victoria are not (in their world) quoting him. (Though prefiguring his comments, perhaps?) However, Yr’s Truly, writing after 1843, feels a scruple to use the quote marks.
> 
> Written for the 2019 Vicbourne Advent Calendar for the FB Group "For The Love Of Vicbourne." If you love Vicbourne, come & join us!


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